Missing Aruba on My Snow Day

This morning I was awakened by the sound of the shovel of the city salt truck scraping the pavement of the side street by my house. This was followed by what sounded like ice chips falling from the sky. This does not happen in Aruba.

Meanwhile, I decided that I should probably take a personal day, but so far, it hasn’t been a snow day like I remember it being when I was younger — the Great Blizzard of ’78.

Of course, one reason is that I spent the morning having a grapple with my conscience on whether or not I should go to work: Didn’t Dad make it to work in ’78? He made more money than I do — even back then, I rationalized. Could I make it? Why chance it, right? Will someone need me? Wouldn’t they be able to go on without me if I suddenly dropped dead?–So what’s one day?

So I made the decision to stay at home based on the fact that I’ll make up the day Friday.

Having settled that, I watched some news and did boring chores, and now I really should go outside to shovel snow.

Daydreaming Aruba

While one part of me thinks how much of a great workout shoveling will be, the other part of me thinks that it’s five o’clock somewhere and a chocolate martini sounds much better. But alas, I have no chocolate martini fixings. A situation that also doesn’t happen in Aruba.

I know it’s been nearly two months since my trip to Aruba, but just the thought of tennis, swimming, a light workout and then sunning by the beach with several Brown Lady drinks, to me, is a much better day than shoveling snow.

So I put off my shoveling task and settled on a hot cocoa with an added shot of Thunder 101 Peppermint Schnapps at 2 p.m., and started daydreaming about being in Aruba.

All was wonderful until my thoughts steered toward my arrival to Aruba — when I mowed over my feisty 5′ aunt.

Will You Bruise?

You know how when you sit on a plane for several hours your legs get stiff? This is what I experienced, which was the cause of the “accident.” I admit that I sucked down two Brown Lady drinks in nothing flat minutes prior to the fall, but it was the stiff legs…and the misplaced curb.

It happened after my aunt had guided me to the bar, instructed me to “get two” drinks, and we headed off for a quickie tour of the grounds. She wanted me to know how to get to the tennis courts, the workout room, and other such places where my aunts normally go during their daily routines.

I had just sucked down the last drop of the second drink and thrown out my plasticware. We were just coming back to the open air lobby of the hotel, and I didn’t pick up my foot far enough and tripped over the curb.

This, of course, sent me in a hunched over run in an attempt to regain my balance. In the meantime, my body veered toward my aunt and bumped her. It was like a Lucy Lawless Xena Warrior Princess stature with a few of Rebel Wilson‘s extra pounds running into a petite Stevie Nicks type frame.

We landed in the stone of the landscape by the building, inches from a cactus. Even luckier, we were in view of all the people who were checking into the hotel.

For the next few days, my aunt was on bruise alert because she takes a blood thinner. All this made me feel just awful, but my aunt seemed to fair pretty well. No bruising.

So now I am sufficiently buzzed from the schnapps and I am ready to shovel. Greg, if you read this, have Bonnie check to make sure that I didn’t fall into a snow drift and freeze to death.

As I relay this story to others, no one believes it was the stiff legs from the plane ride. What do you think?


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